


Summer Song

by hypnoshatesme



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Gerry is blind, M/M, Michael is a Gorgon, they vibe, this is just random scenes and imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:02:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme
Summary: In which Michael is very dramatic and Gerry feels loved.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takingyournarrative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takingyournarrative/gifts).



> I just...really liked this concept we came up with. so I wrote some one night.

Michael always brought him to places that smelled sweetly. The grass was soft under Gerry’s hands and he could hear the faint buzzing of insects, the fainter rustling of the wind through the flowers, blowing their sweet scent towards where they were leaning against a tree, its leaves gently rustling in the breeze, too. Gerry could hear the snakes shift beside him, Michael’s content breathing nearly drowning it out. Snakes, as it turned out, were very silent when they weren’t hissing.

Gerry giggled a little, feeling something tickle the palm of his hand he was holding up to Michael's hair, his snakes. Gerry had been wondering about touching them for a while and today he had finally asked. Michael, as usual, granted him his wish with an audible smile and reassurance that they wouldn't bite. They liked Gerry already, he had said. Because Michael liked Gerry and they were part of him, he had elaborated, and Gerry had felt a little warm in the face.

He felt something warm against his hand now, leathery. And then more of that ticklish sensation that made giggles tumble from Gerry's lips.

"They're smelling you with their tongues. They're curious." Michael’s voice was pleasant as always, Gerry's favourite thing to listen to. He always sounded so affectionate when talking about his snakes. It was cute, and Gerry wanted him to continue.

"They smell with their tongues?"

"Somewhat. It's not like you and I smell. It's a lot...preciser. Finer." He felt Michael’s fingers, soft, against his arm, brushing over his skin. "Snakes don't see or hear very well. They use their tongue to see, in a way. To navigate."

"Like my cane." His voice dissolved into another chuckle as he felt something rub against the side of his hand, gently. It felt nice, smooth and sun-warmed and a little ticklish.

He felt Michael’s fingers travelling the length of his arm, to his wrist. "A little bit, yes."

Gerry hummed, tried to reach out and brush one snake or another with his fingers, carefully. One did hiss and shied away quickly, and Gerry mouthed an apology, went back to holding still and waiting to feel the little tongues flicker against his skin, barely there at all. It was a peculiar sensation, nothing quite comparable to anything Gerry had experienced before, and he delighted in it, smile full of wonder.

He heard Michael shift, and the tongues and leathery bodies were gone, and there was something soft pressing against Gerry’s palm, soft and familiar. Gerry grinned, amused.

"That's not a snake."

He could feel Michael drawing gentle circles on his wrist, could feel his breath against the palm of his hand when he mumbled, "It was getting unbearable to watch them kiss your hand without doing so myself."

And Gerry’s grin softened into a smile at the wording, so very dramatic, so very Michael. He felt Michael's lips wander, skim the sensitive skin of his hand, kiss his fingers gently. 

"Your fingers are beautiful." Michael whispered, reverent, and Gerry’s heart fluttered in his chest. 

It was the tone, always that wonder, that awe in Michael’s voice that Gerry had never heard directed at him. At the starry sky, at the sea, at gems that felt cool and pleasant in Gerry’s hand, just like stones, but that made people's voices sound appreciative, left Gerry to wonder what they might look like to warrant such a tone. What set them apart from stones, who were never talked about in that way, what made them special. 

Michael always talked about Gerry like he was special, precious, and it made Gerry's heart swell. 

"Are they?" He asked, genuine curiosity mixed into the playful tone. Michael would always find ways to explain, to describe, and Gerry would never see, couldn't picture what he had never seen, but he could  _ feel _ it, could feel what Michael meant between his words, where his voice went low, reverent, soft, whispering, sometimes nearly singing. 

"They are. There is artistry in them." A kiss to a leftover stain of blue paint on Gerry’s thumb. He loved the feeling of the paint against his fingers, loved to trace the dried one on the wall when he was done, texture now different, exciting. "And kindness." Michael’s voice was dripping affection where he was mumbling against Gerry’s skin and his heart did a little leap of happiness, still surprised he could make somebody sound like this, could make  _ Michael _ sound like this. 

As far as Gerry was concerned, Michael was the most wonderful person in the world, and hearing his voice in such wonder at Gerry always made Gerry’s heart swell.

He felt Michael’s lips on the back of his hand now, fingers wrapped in Michael’s warm, soft hand, squeezed gently. "They remind me of a story…"

And Gerry grinned because he loved Michael’s stories, loved listening to his lilting voice spin tales as he kissed and caressed Gerry's skin, talk of wonders and things Gerry had never heard of, but Michael talked of them in such a tone Gerry felt like he  _ knew _ , like he felt as Michael felt about those things, the awe, the appreciation, the love. And the tales, sometimes long, sometimes short, would always end in how the sea wished its colour were as deep as Gerry’s hair, how the night sky envied the freckles on his arms and Gerry didn't know if any of it made sense, had only other people's tales of the sea, the sky to give him a reference point. Not to how they looked, Gerry would never have an idea of that, but to how they made them feel, the reverence in their voices, the awe. 

And Gerry's face would grow warm under Michael’s attention, under words that compared anything of Gerry to those things that seemed to fill people with such emotions, things from poetry and song that seemed to bewitch and enchant humans and gods alike. And Michael would tell him that his face turned the loveliest shade of red, that roses and poppies paled in comparison, and Gerry didn't know what it meant, but Michael’s voice was full of love, of adoration when he said it and so Gerry was sure it must be good, it must be something worth that tone of voice and so Gerry loved it, too, whatever that shade of red was.

Michael had taken both of Gerry's hands during his story, and had kissed and caressed them as he spun his tale and Gerry could tell by the cadence of his voice that it was over now, the story, and Michael whispered, "The gods are jealous of these hands."

And Gerry giggled and felt light and warm from how little he understood, but how much he  _ felt _ , and when he leaned towards Michael he was gathered into Michael’s arms, pressed against his body, warm and sweet and familiar, and Gerry felt safe and home and adored and red.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was something like a christmas gift, since we were both missing ~the sun~

The day was hot, the sun merciless and air warm, but Gerry felt good. The grass was soft underneath him, birdsong and insect buzzing filling the air with something akin to music, summer’s song, accompanied by the gentle sloshing of the lakewater. They had been swimming, the water cool and soothing against Gerry’s sun-warmed skin, Michael’s hand in his always, guiding him. Gerry’s steps had been hesitant at first, careful, wet sand under his feet a strangely novel sensation. 

He rarely dared to walk too far into bodies of water. They often drowned out all noise around him and made for a generally disorienting experience. But he did  _ like _ it. Liked the feeling of the cool water against his legs, liked running his fingers over the surface of the water as he carefully walked further until, eventually, it had reached his shoulders and it felt a little like an embrace, calming, soothing, and Gerry did feel like he had lost orientation, but it was okay. Michael’s hand never left his, and he pulled him into a hug and kissed his hair, and Gerry smiled and closed his eyes.

Now he was sprawled on the soft grass, taking in the sweet scent of flowers all around him, the sun’s warmth appreciated against his wet skin. Gerry thought he could nearly feel the water droplets evaporating in the heat. He felt warm and content, eyes closed against the sun’s heat.

Michael had been lying next to him, but had propped himself up on his elbows to watch Gerry dry, had eventually sat up to do so more comfortably. Gerry seemed to be glowing in the sun, light catching in the water droplets on his skin, illuminating him, freckles on his arms and shoulders, some on his chest, stark at the height of summer, lovely constellations Michael knew and cherished, aware they’d partly be gone in a couple months. 

“Gerry,” Michael mumbled, softly, and Gerry’s content smile grew a little wider, barely noticeable. 

But Michael was looking out for it, the sign that Gerry had heard and wouldn’t startle when Michael brought his own drying finger’s to his skin, fingers dancing circles on Gerry’s hips. He shivered a little, still smiling, and his skin was warm under Michael’s fingers, warm and soft.

“You’re exquisite…” he breathed, as his fingers followed the trail of hair on Gerry’s stomach, circled his navel before moving up further, pressing his whole hand flat against Gerry’s chest, fingers sprawled out against warm skin. 

Gerry shivered at the contact, then breathed, sighed, and Michael watched and felt, in rapt attention, in admiration, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Gerry made it look ethereal, nearly painful to look at, awe-inspiring, and Michael bent down, pressed a kiss to his collarbone, hand coming to rest over his steadily beating heart.

“You’re so alive.” Another kiss. “And so beautiful.” And another kiss, the beginning of a trail along Gerry’s throat, interrupted only by more words of admiration.  _ Wonderful _ , _ dazzling, marvelous, gorgeous, magnificent _ , all whispered into skin like prayer, except Gerry never heard anyone pray like this, voice filled with reverence, yes, but also love, also affection and it made his heart swell in his chest, beat quicker as the words settled. Meaningless to him, but Michael’s voice made them heavy with meaning, tone letting the words seep beneath Gerry’s skin and make a home there, warm and good and he felt like his body was left singing, in tune to the press of Michael’s lips against Gerry’s sun-flushed skin, still not fully dry.

Michael kissed the stray water droplets away, drank the water stuck to Gerry’s lips like somebody parched, like it was the most precious, most valuable thing and Gerry couldn’t help the giggle escaping his lips, and Michael kissed him, once, twice, mumbled more sweet, appreciative words against his lips, comparisons to flowers and trees, mountains and skies. Gerry didn’t know what it meant, had never seen any of it, but his heart still fluttered in his chest at the words, at how honey-sweet they settled on his lips, his tongue, and he giggled again, face warming, not from the sun alone anymore.

Michael kissed his jaw, his ears, cheeks, kissed the water caught in his brows, gently, softly, kissed the droplets from Gerry’s thick lashes, twitching beautifully against Michael’s lips, tickling, drawing a small chuckle out of Michael. It made Gerry smile, the sound, and Michael kissed the bridge of his nose. 

“There’s nothing sweeter than your smile.” A kiss to the tip of Gerry’s nose, making him chuckle this time. Michael’s voice was sweet as the scent of the flowers, the rustling of the leaves. “Except for maybe your laughter.” 

Michael sounded like he was grinning and Gerry wrapped his arms around Michael’s middle, mindful of not bothering his snakes, and pulled him down, close. Michael understood, pressed his smile into Gerry’s cheek, wrapped him in his arms. Gerry could feel some of the snake’s flickering tongues against his face and it felt like little kisses, ticklish, and he giggled again when Michael rubbed his cheek with his nose. 

“I love you,” Michael whispered into his ear with a kiss and Gerry turned his face, pressed a kiss to what he assumed was Michael’s forehead.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
